Sunday, May 30, 2010

in one of our calmer moments this weekend, my fiance and i decided to pay a little visit to coldstone. we were delighted that it wasn't full of the usual teenaged hoodlums and thugs of south torrance! in fact, the only people in coldstone when we got there were two older women, mid 60's-ish, both dyed platinum blonde and having one hell of a time deciding what to get.

one lady had decided on something simple (coffee with brownies, or something). the other...not so much.

"do you have pistachio?" she asked. the coldstone funployee assured her they did. "oooohhhh...." she said, rolling her eyes upward.

"do you have fudge?" she asked. they did! "ooogghhhhhHHH!" she got a bit louder, but once again rolling her eyes upward.

suddenly, she was bellied up to the glass, pressing her face against it. "STRAWBERRIES! AND CARAMEL! AND...oh, i don't even know!" she pointed to us. "YOU! YOU TWO have THE MOST interesting taste!!!"

"um, actually, ma'am, this is one of their creations." i said meekly. "our strawberry blonde?"

she stared blankly.

she turned to the barista. "honey, can i get pistachio with the fudge marbled in?" the barista looked frightened. "i...do you mean you want it mixed in?"

the lady looked aghast. "they used to make a pistachio marble at 31 flavors! WOOWGHGHAHHHHHOOOOHHHH!" she rolled her eyes again. i did a quick search for signs of seizure, then focused my eyes solely on the floor so that she wouldn't see me laughing at matt's dropped jaw.

2. it's not okay to ask to see the rest of my tattoos. maybe i don't feel like doing a whole inventory, or maybe they're located in a place that i can't show you right now.

3. don't automatically assume that just because i can't show you where a certain tattoo is, that it is placed somewhere...naughty. (and don't ask me, either!) i usually won't show you if i'm wearing a dress and my tattoo is located on my lower back. no, random person, i will not show you. wipe the smirk off your face.

4. i hate it when a guy asks you out, you tell him you're taken, and he responds with "what's that got to do with you and me?" um, dude? EVERYTHING. there is no "you and me." because there is "me and him." get it?

5. i also really hate it when i can't get the lint from the lint trap off in one sheet. man, that crap will bug me ALL DAY.

6. don't be a snob! people like the music they like, or they like the movies they like, or they believe whatever religion they believe. it's OKAY. people are different! and if you don't like the same thing, that's fine. it doesn't mean you have to belittle them for it.

7. i hate it when the peanut butter and the jelly get cross contaminated. but i refuse to use two knives. my life is so hard.

8. i hate rihanna's hair. you're not a cockatoo, dear, time for a trim.

9. moving. moving bugs me! i feel like i've been doing nothing but getting prepared for a move and i have NOTHING DONE. if i were donald trump, i'd have people to do it for me. well, that, and a kick ass head of hair. rowr.

Saturday, May 22, 2010

she has a house that feels like it's own secluded world. my brother and i spent a great deal of time at her house when we were smaller and needed the fist of fury that is my oma. (insert sarcasm here.)

when we were sick, we always got to lay on the big couch with the softest blanket she had. she would set up a tv tray with ice water and a straw, a mug of chicken broth, some soda crackers, and the remote control. she would keep a cool compress on our heads and let us sleep and ingest mass quantities of mr. rogers' neighborhood.

there is a pool in her backyard that my papa designed. to date, i've never seen a similarly shaped pool. it has a springy diving board and it used to have a fort nearby, with bean bags and bee hives and an 8-track player. there is a fire pit, around which teenage me and my friends would gather after 8 hours of swimming to roast a few hot dogs and 'mallows.

there is a huge yard, where we had epic easter egg hunts. there were eggs filled with candy, eggs filled with money, foil wrapped rice krispie treats, and a basket for each of us. and as with every holiday, my oma would cook too much, we would eat too much, and we would all collapse in the living room for naps.

the yard is filled with flowers. there are hummingbird feeders, and they come in droves. my oma knows the name of each bird that graces her yard. there are squirrels, and growing up there were always at least 3 desert tortoises walking around. at the end of her yard is a cactus patch that we all call "the desert", because we are terribly creative that way.

inside my oma's house, there is green carpet that my brother picked out, and couches that she hoped weren't "too flowery" when she ordered them (they are COVERED in flowers). there are random magazine clippings of sayings and pictures that she likes. in the kitchen, there is an apple shaped cookie jar, of which i have never seen the inside. there is the piano that my mom used to practice on, and the wine bottle with the different colors of candle wax melted onto the outside. on the fireplace, there is an asian inspired fan and pussywillow branches.

here and there are paintings and drawings she has done, and even though she claims that they're not very good, they are stunning.

but the BEST part about my oma's house? is my oma.

she is quick of wit, and fast with neighborhood gossip (which i LOVE). she has nails that she would use to tickle us with when we were younger, and my mom and i both have my oma's hands. hope she doesn't need those anytime soon!

she is always more than happy to help out in any way she can. there have been more than a few times, in fact, where she has come to the rescue in a huge way.

i love that even at the ripe old age of 26, i am able to go to my oma's house and lose myself in an afternoon of magazines and conversation. we laugh and talk, and she'll dole out candy or cookies or multi-colored marshmallows. we laugh about family members and go through old things in her cupboards.

Saturday, May 15, 2010

as i was driving, i saw a target dog. the dog from the ads. and it was walking IN THE DIRECTION OF TARGET.

so, of course, as a person of faith, i had to follow the target dog.

but i didn't buy anything! i walked around the entire store with a couple things from the dollar stand (strawberry plants, if you must know. and you must. know.) but never purchased them. i was too tired after walking the entire store looking at things we'll need for the new house to stand in line to purchase two things. i'll just get a pot and some dirt and seeds and grow my own damn strawberry plants, thank you very much.

hey, did y'all know that mr. clean makes more than just, well, mr. clean? he has magic erasers! and a magic eraser butterfly mop! i can't imagine a butterfly would sit still while you mop it, but then again, that mr. clean sure is a charmer.

also, i had no idea how many different options there were for shower caddies. it's mind bottling, yo. completely mind bottling. matt and i are now trying to come up with ways to incorporate a bathroom wastebasket with a pirate octopus on the front of it into a southwestern colored bathroom.

Friday, May 7, 2010

my fiance, a couple of close friends, and myself are looking to move out together soon. one of the possibilities is my old childhood home.

it's strange to call it my "childhood" home because as children, my brother and i moved a lot. never drastically, it was 98 percent in the same city. we never changed schools, just addresses.

when i left that house, it was full of emotions. it was hard to be there, and it was hard not to be there. we'd had wonderful years in that house. my brother married the girl across the street from the big yellow house with the boat in front. we made and lost friends in the neighborhood. that house became the place our friends were always welcome, where many bomb threat days at narbonne were spent baking cookies instead of baking ourselves out on the football field. we filmed mockumentaries there. it was where i remember sitting with my friend manny at my dining room table, constructing a biome for enviro-sci and discussing religion and faith. there are hamsters buried in the backyard, and the lights are still strung up in the backyard from my high school graduation party.

my stepdad spent a year fighting cancer and the after effects of the treatment in the master bedroom, with our loyal cat barnaby by his side. that was the year i learned about accepting help from people. my sister in law's mom would leave homemade enchiladas and a marie callendar's pie for us on the porch, and her dad would come over and mow the lawn without telling us. other neighbors would leave notes or cards on the door, or come to ask how we were doing and if we needed help.

after i left, i didn't go back in for another couple of years or so due to renters who probably would have had a problem with me just waltzing in. not that i really wanted to. so much had happened, emotionally and physically, in that house that i just wanted to leave behind and forget. but you know, you can't really ever do that.

space is a funny thing, because going back into the house to look at it as a potential resident brought back some unexpected things. i didn't feel sad, or mad. i felt the energy of all the good times in that house. i felt happiness from parties and family gatherings, and from nights out in the backyard grilling. i felt excitement for prom and for my mom's wedding that we held in the backyard. i felt the closeness of thanksgivings, my entire huge bickering family all lined up for one peaceful meal that lasted all of fifteen minutes.

to see the house empty is a shame, because it has the potential to be such a place of love and togetherness. so even if we don't become the next tenants, i hope that whoever it is can understand the value of the house that built me. (thanks, miranda lambert, for the song.)